Lost Violent Souls
by Mabus101
Summary: They were only human, once. Before the Third Age, before the War of Power and the Breaking, there was the Collapse, and the rise to power of the men and women we know as Forsaken. Some were villains, even then. Most...were heroes. This is their story.
1. Chapter 1 - Fused Glass

They gathered on the black glass by the thousands, men and women, human and Ogier-even a few Nym scattered through the crowd. Few of them could channel, yet among those few were some of the most powerful Servants in the world. There were Aiel there in working clothes, and the Holder of the Third Rod of Dominion.

In the past this place had sometimes been closed to the public, for the crowd stood on the grounds of the Collam Daan, and even the most stringent safety measures were not always enough when certain experiments were going on. That was why the death toll had not been greater. Even so, more lives had been claimed than in any accident in a hundred years-well over four hundred of the world's best and brightest, and all who had worked with them.

The Sharom had fallen here one year ago, spouting black twisting flame. Space and time had wrenched themselves. Two thirds of the campus had burned in that unnatural fire, despite the efforts of a dozen channelers and a hundred disaster workers. One thousand three hundred thirteen men and women-many Aes Sedai, but far from all. Researchers, students, janitorial staff, firemen and paramedics, a trio of children there with their mother...

The last names were, at this moment, being carved into the glass.

"We cannot bring them back," she said. "They are beyond us now. We miss the love and friendship. We miss the intensity of their minds, the secrets they might yet have found. We miss even the power that destroyed them, when our attempt to harness it failed. But most of all, we miss _them_. We who survived."

No one should have been able to survive that unimaginable blast. For most, no body remained to bury. There had been fragments of bone and charred tissue. Silhouettes had been painted in ash on the untarnishable walls of the Collam Daan. Those in the Sharom itself, some researchers thought, might have been ripped beyond atoms by some unthinkable singularity.

And then there was the woman standing before them today.

"There are, no doubt, some of you who resent my survival. In the Light's truth, I admit I do as well. My friends and colleagues died here, and I...I alone..." Tears trickled down her face.

Half an hour after the blast subsided, with rescue workers still combing the outlying buildings, a gateway had opened, and Mierin Eronaile Sedai had stumbled from the Unseen World onto the hot black glass, burn scars marring much of the left side of her body. There had been a cursory investigation into the disaster, but the tertiary backups in the surviving computers had shown no indication of wrongdoing. Not that anyone could have had the heart to punish Mierin beyond the pain she still inflicted on herself today. She had not earned her third name, of course, but there would be time for that; no one doubted her career would go on. The burns, of course, were long gone.

She struggled for a moment, then flipped through several pages. "This...this memorial will stand to the end of the Age, if not longer. We will not forget those whom we lost. Their names are inscribed on this sea of glass, and in our hearts. There they will live on, until the Wheel turns and they are reborn."

"Thank you to those of you who worked on this memorial. Thank you to those who have gathered here to pay your respects. Thank you to our surviving friends and families who could not be here today, but who have sustained us in our grief. And...and...thank you for saving me, Beidomon Neravan Sedai. Without you, only my name would have been here today."

Mierin gathered herself visibly and gestured for the platform of air to be lowered. "I give you my colleague, Joar Addam Nessosin Sedai."

Joar coughed and ahemed for a moment as his colleagues made some final adjustments to their instruments. "Thank you, Mierin. All of us are deeply moved today, by your words and by the memory of loss. I call this piece 'Meditation on Dark Fire'. I hope it touches your hearts. I hope it soothes your griefs, even just a little." He ran his fingers over the keys of his obaen and began to play, softly.

Perhaps it was not his best piece, the mourners agreed. But then, perhaps it was not fitting that his best piece be reserved for such a tragedy as this. They stood, swaying in time to the music, as the band of the Prodigy of Shorelle played and sang.

Dark whispers rose with the music, whispers that wound their way not into the listeners' ears, but directly into their minds and hearts. The whispers were not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time.

But they were _a _beginning.


	2. Chapter 2 - Gateways

Eval Ramman was starting to worry.

He was surrounded by more security personnel than he'd seen at any three drunken brawls, and he hadn't even gotten involved in one this time. Instead of standard city security brown, these wore the grey-green of high-level government agents. Two of them could channel-though, admittedly, he wasn't sure why they didn't have a buffer on him if he was really in this much trouble.

"Let me guess," said the weedy-looking woman in front of him. "You have no idea why you're even here, do you?" She wasn't much to look at-minimal breasts, the butt of a teenage boy, and close-cropped brown hair. Such a disappointment. And she was taller than him, too. Eval didn't much care for tall women, though admittedly a nice rack covered a multitude of sins. She was wearing the bland blue-white robes of a researcher, too. Eval preferred women with less on their minds.

"Not in the slightest," Eval confessed. "I wasn't aware of having committed any crimes. At least, not since I was publicly censured three months ago."

She sighed. "You're not in any trouble, Eval. My name is Letan Obral Denethyst. I'm with the Venus terraforming project. You've heard of it?"

"Everyone's heard of it," Eval agreed. "I don't see what it has to do with me, unless you're suggesting an exile for those of us who give grief to security agents."

"I wouldn't have expected it to have anything to do with you," Letan said disparagingly. "But it seems there's a first time for everything. Or rather, there isn't. If you'll sign this nondisclosure agreement, I'll show you what I mean."

Eval shrugged and scribbled his name on the tablet she held out. She led him over to the secured door at the side of the room and opened it with a wave of her hand. Eval blinked. The ter'angreal had read her soul, not her genetic profile-a procedure reserved for ultra-secure facilities. He supposed he'd expected as much for the project, but not to actually be allowed through any such door. It stayed open for him, though.

"Seize the Source. The _sa'angreal_'s embedded in the floor," Letan ordered. "You know how this works?"

Eval nodded. The room was a grey metal box painted with a distinctive symbol on each wall. In theory, Travelling anywhere in the universe involved the same procedure as Travelling on Earth, but since you had to know your surroundings down the the subatomic level to pull it off, actually getting it to work took extreme measures. Also, a _sa'angreal. _Eval reached through it and seized _saidin_, drinking deeper until he could _feel_ the patterns embedded in the wall's deep structure.

"We expect all personnel involved to be able to open a gateway themselves," Letan added. "Too much liability if someone could be trapped on Venus. There's another _sa'angreal _at the other end. I'm going to take us this time, but everyone needs to learn this room." She breathed in deeply, and the gate opened.

There was a vague, diffuse glow in the sky that Eval supposed was the sun until Letan pointed out the force dome surrounding the encampment. "It's the middle of the night, but obviously we have to keep the web maintaining the atmosphere going at all times."

"I'm still in the dark as to why I'm even here. My field of expertise is extinct cultures, specifically the-"

"You were recommended by Detosh, Haila, and Berun, who are all also going to be here working with you. We expect you to be on your best behavior, but if you actually do so, and live up to your reputation in your specialty, you might just get a third name at last. You know the Rignei hypothesis, of course. Time is a repeating sequence of seven ages. History fades to legend, legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten by the time the age it was based on comes around again. The transphysicists insist on it, and an increasing number of philosophers believe it...but you see the problem, right?"

Eval chuckled. "How do you verify a theory of history that explicitly states the evidence needed is long gone?"

Letan smiled faintly in return. "Now, it's generally agreed that history doesn't repeat in every detail. All the same, we know that the age before us never reached the level of technology required to land humans on Venus. And it's generally agreed that the age before that-call it Seventh or Zeroth, depending on who you ask-was an age of nomadic primitives. So it's been at least two ages-around eight to ten thousand years-since anyone could possibly have been here."

"But we're here." Eval gave a start. "Wait...you're saying that there could be-and therefore, that there is-evidence of a previous expedition. Here. On Venus. And it's at least ten thousand years old?"

"Our best estimates at present say roughly twelve thousand. Not old enough to be the last iteration of our age, of course, if we're correct...but that, Eval Sedai, is exactly what you're here to help us figure out."

* * *

The bunker was nothing out of the ordinary, if rather spartan. Eval thought it looked rather like the lower-class apartment he had grown up in, save for the extra beds. At the far end of the chamber, though, a rough door had been hacked out of the rock. And beyond...

"I have to admit this doesn't look much like anything I'm familiar with," he reluctantly acknowledged. "The script seems analogous to some cuneiform types I've encountered, but not enough for me to think I can make out words or even sounds." Some of the equipment looked electronic, some had the feel of the One Power about it...and some resembled nothing Eval had ever seen before. The only really familiar thing in the room was a rusted remnant of a chair.

"It's too bad the complex isn't more extensive," Letan murmured. "There'd be more of a chance of finding something useful. There are two particular sites of interest, however." She gestured toward a door on the left. "Over there is the stasis room." She led Eval through into a gallery of bone-filled chambers.

"They don't seem to have had modern stasis technology," Eval observed. A proper stasis box would have preserved its occupants alive right up to this moment. In theory, at least.

Letan shook her head. "They seem to have used some form of cryogenic freeze. Unfortunately, it failed a very long time ago. We don't even know why they were in here, except..."

"What?"

"If they saw the end of the Age, and it came in the form of some disaster, maybe they sealed themselves inside in the hope of waiting it out."

"Well, that didn't work out well for them."

"No, I suppose not. The other room is in here. We call it the gate room."

The gate room-beyond the stasis chambers-was a bit of a disappointment. Yes, there was a big bronze rectangle that looked a bit like a door, and the equipment arrayed in front of it was surely meant to do something. What that might be evaded him, though. He had a brief flash of a network of gates extending across the galaxy, but surely that would have disrupted the cycle of ages a long time ago.

"This is the closest we have to a rosetta stone. There are two very different forms of writing here. There might have been multiple languages in use at the time, but in all honesty it looks more as if the 'gate'-if that's what it is-is from an even earlier era, and they were trying to figure it out too." Letan picked up a notebook whose pages seemed to be made from some form of plastic. "Unfortunately, we're not familiar with either system."

Eval glanced over the notebook. "You're right that it's different." The pages were filled with some form of cursive script, festooned with loops and curlicues. "You know, it looks a lot like the writing from the Portal Stones, but the timing is all wrong." Then a thought struck him. "Maybe the people who made the Portal Stones were here too, or found another ruin like this one. Their fragments on chaos theory and quantum mechanics are consistent with the purpose of the Stones, but no one's ever worked out the connection between the Stones themselves and the consistently electronics-based technology of the First Age."

"Then this could be a gate, but not to other planets?" Letan's voice rose in surprise. "To other mirror worlds, maybe? But why here?"

Eval shrugged at her. "I once came across a book about mirror worlds that were different because the planets were changed. Maybe it leads to a world where Venus is habitable already. Other than that...I couldn't tell you."

Letan nodded. "I've heard worse theories. I have to admit it, your reputation is correct when it comes to your intelligence, too."

"Not just my temper and my terrible womanizing ways?" He chuckled. "I'm not that bad a fellow, Letan. I'm just a little short on patience. Life is short, you know."

Letan raised an eyebrow at him. "I'd guess you have several hundred years left in you, Eval."

"How old is this ruin, Letan? You said your best estimates indicated twelve millennia, and, honestly, I think it might be older than that. Compared to that, we are babes crawling through the debris of ages." Eval shook his head. "Given my wish, I would live for all eternity, and maybe one day I'd actually understand what's going on."

"When you put it that way," Letan said quietly, "I'm not sure I wouldn't join you."

* * *

Some people couldn't have slept in an ancient tomb like this. Eval had accepted over a hundred years ago that there was nowhere in the world that was _not_ a tomb-you just had to go back far enough. Your food's very molecules had been part of some human somewhere less than a thousand years ago. If that was disgusting or frightening, well, death was to blame for that, not him.

In short, Eval slept like a baby. Just how long, he couldn't have said, largely because he was woken by Letan shaking him and screaming in his ear.

"Get up! Get up, you imbecile! What have you done?"

"Me?"

"You're the new factor! You...you...you've been asleep the whole time, haven't you? Never mind, get _up_!"

"What's going on?" Eval rubbed his eyes blearily.

"We have to get out of here. They've already killed Haila. Berun, Detosh, and Jonneth are trying to hold them off."

"Them?" Eval pulled on his pants, leaving the rest.

"You'll have to see to believe me."

"Just tell me." He started for the door.

"The dead. They came out of the stasis room. They ate Haila's face before we could stop them."

Eval didn't stop moving, but he did protest. "There's nothing more intact than bones in those stasis chambers."

"I told you you wouldn't believe me. You'll see, though."

Berun was holding the main bunker door shut with the Power. "We can't get out this way," she shouted. "They're coming from outside too!"

"What?!" Letan glanced wildly around at the possible remaining exits. "There's nothing out there but barren rock! There wouldn't even be air without the dome!"

"Don't argue with it," Eval snapped. "If the walking dead are outside, they're outside. There's no logic to any of this, and only one way out. We Travel home."

"But the notes, the artifacts...Haila's body!" Jonneth clutched a pair of electronic pads. "We can't leave it all here."

"Do the dead burn?" Eval asked. "I'd have expected you to try that first."

"They burn," Berun acknowledged. "They seem to re-form right out of the ash, though. I think that must be where they came from to begin with."

Eval nodded. "Nothing but dust and bones. If we can't kill them, people, we have to leave. Now, before they-"

The dispensary door burst open and shambling, rotting horrors spilled from it. Eval didn't protest that they'd said the creatures came from the stasis room. He closed his eyes and seized the One Power, reaching for the _sa'angreal_ buried outside. "Somebody open a gateway! I'll hold them off!" Berun started to protest, but he cut the man off. "I'm not dying here, and I don't know this place well enough yet. You want to spend a month Skimming home?"

His skin prickled, Letan spread her arms wide, and a gateway snapped open. "Out!" she snapped. "Eval is right. Take whatever you have and let's get out of here!"

A thing with half a face and no mouth reached for Eval, and he seared it away with Fire and Earth. "Go! Go now!"

Jonneth and Berun dragged Detosh-the bite on his shoulder was red and swollen-through the gateway, careful of the edges on his behalf.

Something grabbed Eval by the shoulders, and he nearly set it aflame before realizing that it was Letan. "Let's go," she snarled, glaring at the creatures that had overrun her sanctum.

"You don't have to tell me twice," he answered, and they leaped through together. The gate snapped shut behind them, severing a still-twitching, half-rotten hand.

"That wasn't the Power," Eval said breathlessly. "Was it something from the bunker, something we set off?"

"I don't know," Letan grumbled. "I didn't feel anything. For all I could tell, it was Ogiersong."

Jonneth gave a wry laugh. "They sure haven't told us about that one."

Letan sighed. "Get Detosh to a Restorer. Then...then we make our report." Eval sighed too, and shook his head. "I'm sorry about your name," she said quietly. "I know the expedition might have meant a lot to you."

Eval made a noise that might have been laughter too; even he wasn't sure. "As much as I wanted that, it's the least of my frustrations right now." He looked her in the eye. "I know my reputation, Letan. I know you think I'm a lecher and a brawler. But I swear this to you: it's the knowledge I regret. I love my work as much as I love a good tumble with a pretty girl. Maybe even a little more." He tried to smile at that, and failed.

Letan met his eyes for a moment. "Then I guess we do have something in common after all. I wish this had all gone differently."

"Just promise me this," Eval said quietly. "Help me find out what happened. You're the physicist here."

"Geophysicist," Letan reminded him. "But you have my word. I swear to try."

Maybe she was worth a night with after all.


	3. Chapter 3 - Ties That Bind

"Next client," said the receptionist.

Kamarile took a deep breath and smiled. Solving other people's problems was easy; getting them to follow the solutions was hard. Still, society progressed-she was evidence of that-and one day everyone else would reach her level. Exercise self-control. Ignore material goods beyond the minimum. Live simply.

Was it really that hard?

Ah well. She thought for just a moment. "Damendar. Nemene Damendar Boann. Marital counseling."

"Correct," the receptionist intoned. Kamarile wondered briefly if she could design-or even help design-a better AI system for the things. They were good at memory and small talk, but not much else yet. One day soon, perhaps.

The door remained closed and silent, so after a few moments she turned on the waiting room camera. Nemene was a long-term client with a need for confidentiality, so it was always possible that she was being hassled. No, not this time-her daughter appeared to be talking heatedly with her. Finally Nemene smiled and handed the girl back a piece of paper, then patted her absently on the head before heading into the office.

"Tamera can be difficult to deal with at times," Nemene said rather flatly. "Still, I take some pride in her reports. Perhaps she'll go into the sciences one day, or medicine."

"I'm sure she'll take after you or Hassan," Kamarile agreed. "Though it's always possible she'll develop that talent for light sculpture instead."

Nemene sighed, then pressed her lips together disapprovingly. "Something useful would be better."

"Now, now. 'Useful' is a relative term. The arts are an important emotional outlet for society, for one thing. Consider the cathartic effect of the Nessosin concert, for instance."

"Nessosin?" Nemene raised an eyebrow. "I found his new work rather bland, myself. He writes about pain, but seems never to have experienced any. If I want to listen to a piece with no emotional depth, I'll take a Tedronai sound-sculpture over Nessosin any day."

Kamarile smiled faintly. She knew Elan professionally, and his work was more emotional than Nemene seemed to realize. "Sometimes abstraction is a retreat from pain, Nemene, not just a failure to experience it. But you didn't come here to discuss popular music."

"No. I came to discuss pain."

"You're having renewed issues?" Kamarile frowned. "It's been over a decade since your marriage, Nemene. I personally believed Hassan was perfect for you. Intellectually your equal, certainly-"

"But subservient and masochistic. Yes. And it worked for a time, Kamarile. I assure you, he kept my interest for most of that time. If you check my patient record for the past ten years, you will find it almost clean."

"Almost?"

"In the last few months, I have begun having...difficulties. The incidence of annoying patients has begun increasing, and...Kamarile, he _enjoys_ it. You don't understand, do you? At first it was enough to inflict pain and watch him writhe. But recently I have begun to see him differently. What use is it to hurt him if he derives pleasure from it?"

"Well, for one thing, it means that you're not hurting someone who derives no pleasure from it." Kamarile watched Nemene's reaction. Twitching left eye. That was not good. "You say this has only begun in the last few months? Until then you had your urges under adequate control?" Understand. Then change the line of attack.

"It has been at least ten months since I've properly enjoyed bedding him, Kamarile. Then my patients began becoming more frustrating over the last...six, I'd say. Only in the last two months have I hurt anyone, and not yet seriously."

That was an interesting timeframe. She would have to check her records, but it seemed to Kamarile that more troubling problems had begun to darken her doorstep in the last year. "Be sure that you don't, Nemene. My goal here is to help you. It would be a shame to have to report you to the authorities. I believe we can still solve your problems short of...extreme measures."

Nemene's expression darkened. "I will not submit to binding, Kamarile Sedai. I have done no harm to society. I will remind you again, I have hurt no one more than they deserve."

"And I believe you, Nemene, or you wouldn't be sitting comfortably in my office. You're a good person. We all are. It's simply harder for you to express it than most, because of your...desires. But everyone has desires. It's just a matter of keeping them under control."

"Not everyone is so restrained as you. Nor should we have to be. Did we create a world of wonders so that we could pretend they didn't exist? Are you an Incastar, Kamarile? Is that why you deny yourself pleasure? Or are you simply a self-righteous ass?" Nemene blinked. "I apologize. I should not have left my needlework at home."

Kamarile covered by taking a sip of water. "I forgive you, Nemene. You're under a great deal of stress. The last thing I want is to add to it." Because then the woman would seek relief, after all. "You deserve to enjoy the life you want, Nemene, including sexual fulfillment. But you should try and consider that others deserve the same. That's my only rationale, Nemene. Have you not heard the saying, 'Live simply so that others may simply live'? An ancient sentiment, but not entirely obsolete even today. Our society merely obeys it better."

Nemene grimaced. "But why would anyone want to simply live?" The taller woman rose from her seat. "I'm sorry. This was not the best of times. I promise to make another appointment within the next week."

"If you like. Be sure that you keep it, Nemene. I want to help you." Nemene strode out without further comment, and Kamarile put herself through some deep breathing exercises. Be the rose. The riverbank. Pull the steering yoke, not the jo-car itself.

Sometimes she thought it would be so much simpler to just set a web on the brains of people like Nemene. Was that really so much different from using a binder on them? Yet for some reason it was forbidden.

_Because it's too much of a temptation_, she reminded herself. "Any further clients?" she asked the receptionist.

"Yarbro Tathan, four-thirty. Anxiety issues."

"Please send him my regrets. I need to cancel. Bring up that new recreation program I downloaded."

"Regrets, Aes Sedai. I cannot comply. That file has been deleted."

"What?" The program was unquestionably legal, though she suspected anyone who knew her would be shocked to find she had it. "When-no, who deleted it?"

"No standard i.d. code. There is a message file in its place, Aes Sedai."

"Let me see that." She swiped her hand across the screen.

The message file read simply: _ Are you certain this is sufficient to meet your needs, Kamarile? I have many more...intensive experiences for you, if you wish. A. M._

She leaned back in her seat, grinding her teeth. True, no one who watched the program would really believe the actors were under Compulsion. That was part of the point; it was supposed to sate appetites, not whet them. In any case, "A. M.", whoever he was, had no right to invade her computer and delete her perfectly legal files. Not even security personnel had the right to do that.

She took one more deep breath and began to compose a response.


	4. Chapter 4 - Dragonslayer

Elan Morin raised an eyebrow as his opponent removed the Fisher from the board. "Rather inelegant."

His opponent shrugged. "I'm not trying for elegance, Elan. I'm not a grandmaster."

Elan considered that. "Interesting theory. You believe you can defeat me more easily by reducing the game to simple melee? Plausible, I suppose. Still..." He shook his head disappointedly. "...very messy, Lews. Very messy."

The younger man nodded while Elan considered his options. "As I said, Elan, I'm just trying to beat you any way I can."

"You have some skill, Lews. And insight. In another few decades, you might well be a grandmaster at sha'rah." Elan shifted a Turret. "But not yet."

Lews Therin's face fell. "Oh. That's going to hurt." He started examining his pawn structure.

"The Fisher is not simply a complication, Lews," Elan pointed out. "It has a range of offensive and defensive options around which the game turns. It is certainly possible for either side to win without it, but removing it is by no means a useful way of reducing the difficulty."

Lews Therin shifted a pawn, removing several of his pieces from the swath of destruction he'd clearly anticipated. Elan simply smiled and moved a pawn of his own. Suddenly Lews Therin's General was exposed to an attack from halfway across the board. "Tsk tsk. I win again, Lews Therin."

Lews ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm not sure I should concede just yet, Elan."

"Regardless of your moves from this point on, you cannot preserve your General for more than five turns, after which your destruction is assured. If you insist on it, though, I will certainly play through the endgame for you."

Lews Therin sighed. "All right. I believe you. You win again."

"Indeed I do." Instead of clearing the board, however, he reached across it and shifted Lews' own left Turret. "Had you done that, the loss of your General would have been irrelevant. I could not have penetrated your lines. However, since you've conceded..."

"You...you lied to me! You said-"

"Lews. It is all part of the game. Should I be honest about my hand when playing chop?"

The shocked expression faded slowly from Lews Therin's face. "You have a point. Still, somehow it doesn't seem like the most honorable path to victory."

"Would you have moved that Turret on your own?"

"Probably not."

"Then your destruction would indeed have been assured, and I spoke the truth. Spend some time thinking about it, Lews Therin. And...might I suggest...less about women?"

Lews groaned and put a hand over his face. "Mierin left another five messages with my service. She's stalking me, Elan Morin."

"I regret that I can't speak to that. I'm afraid I have no recent experience with women. Or men, since you were no doubt about to ask. Did you actually listen to the messages, or are you just assuming that she's pursuing you?"

"Well, what possible reason-"

"-would I have for not telling you that you could protect yourself by moving your Turret?"

"Are you saying it's all a game to her?" Lews Therin muttered something distasteful under his breath.

"I'm saying you should be careful what assumptions you make. Assumptions are never reality, even on the rare occasions they prove correct."

"After today, I'm sure I'll remember that."

Elan smiled. Lews was only a couple of decades younger, but sometimes he seemed so naive. Had Elan been that naive such a short time ago? Then again, Lews was no philosopher, not on Elan's level at least. "At least consider the possibility that Mierin wants to discuss what happened to her. You were close once, and many of the friends she made after your breakup are dead."

"You might be right. Still, it would give her an opening to come after me again."

"Forgive me, Lews. Is that so bad? She is remarkable in mind as well as body." These days, Elan had little interest in romance-truthfully, not much could hold his attention anymore-but he was certainly aware of Mierin's attractiveness, and for a time before the accident they'd had fascinating conversations.

"Maybe you should ask her to dinner, Elan Morin." Lews chuckled softly.

Maybe...no. "I'll take that into consideration." Unfortunately, his lack of enthusiasm was showing.

"Are you all right, Elan? I had heard that you were about to publish another book, but it's been delayed over and over."

"I've been having difficulty writing the conclusion, Lews. I'm a bit blocked, that's all." Just how did you finish a book titled _Reality and the Absence of Meaning_, anyhow? More importantly, why?

Lews shrugged. "If you're sure. Barid, Mierin, and I all enjoyed your first book."

"I confess my surprise. I don't know of anyone else who could say that."

"Well...it was rather dense."

"I'm extremely proud of you three. You're among the best students I've ever had. Perhaps the best."

"Coming from you, Elan, that's high praise. Thank you." Lews rose. "I hate to run off and leave you when you're obviously not feeling well, but I have students of my own these days."

"It has been good to see you, Lews. Keep honing those gaming skills, and perhaps one day we'll meet each other on the professional circuit."

Elan leaned back in his chair and watched Lews go. Elan had never cared for popularity, but he had once had it, if not to the level that Lews did now. There'd been talk that he might be First Among Servants one day; there was still talk of it despite his refusal to discuss the matter with the public. At the very least, he supposed it would fill the time. But then, he could do that with sha'rah. He looked around the gaming hall.

No one else was playing sha'rah-not really a surprise-but there were a pair of tcheran boards set up nearby, and at least half a dozen no'ri games. By chance, it seemed that there was nobody playing cards, though he was sure there had been a large game going when he and Lews began. A few more active gamers were engaged in some sort of contest that involved tossing a flying disc, and at the far side of the room there was a holographic simulation of combat with a large feathered beast.

And why not? There was no other kind of conflict to engage in. That was the price of prosperity. People built business empires, or rose in politics, but there was no prize beyond simple adulation, perhaps money or pleasure if you cared for those things. True, there remained mysteries to solve-Mierin's doomed experiment, the rumored discovery on Venus-but they were the sort of things that taxed the minds of the greatest geniuses. Everyone else heard about them on the news and wondered what they meant. And as often as not, they failed as Mierin's had. And what would it all amount to in the end? The Great Serpent ate its own tail. Everything they learned was doomed to be lost again, every achievement doomed to be forgotten.

"By the Light! What-?"

Elan rose from his seat. There was a milling about near the holographic beasts, and a lizard-scaled thing lifted its head above the crowd with a soundless roar. Then flames shot from its mouth, and the crowd shrieked. Elan smelled seared flesh.

He could walk away.

No, he found. He really couldn't.

It must be some malfunction of the holographic lasers. They weren't meant to be damaging, but in principle they could be. Could the flames have been misprogrammed somehow? Elan wove Air and shoved his way through the crowd with it.

The thing glared at him with hungry, bestial red eyes and opened its mouth. Elan leapt aside as it breathed fire. There was no scent, save that of burnt flesh from the wounded. Of course there wouldn't be. But how to fight an intangible monster?

Weaving the Power, Elan wrapped himself in shadow and stood up to face the dragon. He shut out the elated cries of "Aes Sedai!" as another burst of flame washed over him. The net around him soaked up the holographic fire as a sponge would water.

So he hurled the net at the thing. The dragon whipped its head around, roaring as if in fury or pain. Why had it been programmed so? No matter. The creature dissolved as the web sucked the energy from it, collapsing to motes, then nothing.

Then there were only the cries of pain. Elan offered his services with his mind only barely on the Healing. He was not bad at the basic form, though he was nothing special either. Some of the more seriously burned would need to be seen to by a Restorer. What interested him was the half-caught conversations going on around him.

"-never heard of a malfunction like that-"

"-heard the grid went down in Tzora the other day-"

"-volcano erupted up north-"

"-to believe this, but I heard some kind of creatures escaped from a lab, nobody could account for them-"

Elan had been hearing tales like this for almost three months now. They might well have been spreading for longer. Some sounded almost mundane, if improbable; others as bizarre as people trapped in their rooms by a bubble of folded space or a plague of two-headed flies. Of course, there were always some few who told or believed such tales, but not in the numbers Elan heard of now.

"-walking dead on Venus-"

Of course, some tales were still ludicrous. There were no dead on Venus to be walking. Then again, there were no tentacled monsters in any laboratory he'd ever heard of.

Why had all this begun happening now?

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was one more mystery still worth exploring.


	5. Chapter 5 - Intelligent Design

"I'm sorry," Ishar said absently. "I warned you that I am not well-liked by the Governance Council."

"No one else could have adequately supported me," his student insisted, "or would have, at least."

"That's why I agreed to do it," Ishar admitted. "I respect your ideas too much to have allowed you to go in there alone. But it was a doomed notion from the start. If anything, I made them more wary of you. I have been censured for inappropriate research thrice too many times."

"You would think they would have at least acknowledged the quality of it, the principle." Ishar tried not to be annoyed by the sulkiness in his student's voice. He had been sulky rather often himself. Only fools tried to believe that men and women were different about such things, though sometimes the details of the reaction might be.

"The idea of genetic alterations performed on animals, beyond some very rudimentary health enhancements, is too much for the Governance Council," Ishar pointed out. "Doubly absurd, when they awarded me a third name for making _sapient plants_, but let that go for the moment. You proposed research into several different ways of genetically enhancing _human beings_. As if that were not enough, your preferred project involved redistributing the channelling genes to the general population. _What were you thinking?_"

"I was thinking of the good of humanity," she muttered. "I suppose they weren't."

Ishar took a deep breath. "There is a basic truth of human nature that even I have bothered to learn. Call this society a utopia all you like. No privileged group likes to see its privilege come to an end. Not even the Servants of All, Saine."

"They dubbed me 'unsuited for research'," Saine spat. "After spending a lifetime grooming me for it!"

"They could have labeled you unfit for teaching as well, you know. Risk of 'spreading dangerous ideas'. They tried to do that to me, Saine, and only failed because I learned to grit my teeth and wait before promoting radical notions." Ishar tried to keep his tone even. Saine was methodical and-under most circumstances-patient, but her temper burned just as steadily as her intellect.

"What do I do now, Ishar?" If only he were better at reading people. In stories, those words would be both a sign of desperate unhappiness and an indication of her readiness to fall weeping into his arms. When was the last time he had been with a woman, anyway? Right, right. Thelaine Barasand. Seven-no, eight years ago. He'd made the mistake of asking whether she was feeling anxious for children-at three hundred forty-seven, she'd never borne any-and she'd stormed out of the room half-dressed. How was anyone supposed to know these things?

Wait, he was getting distracted again. "Saine, please keep in touch with me. I find your proposals fascinating, whether anyone on the Governance Council does or not. Suppose I suggest a new method of increasing crop yields; it can be complete folly. Then we will divert the resources to whichever of your ideas you prefer, and you will-completely unofficially-'assist' me."

Saine looked stunned. Well, technically his idea was utterly unethical, but it was for the good of humanity. What were ethics compared to that? "What happens when the agriculture project falls through?"

"Ninety percent of all crop yield projects fail these days, simply because we are approaching a theoretical maximum, Saine. There are nearly ten billion people on the planet; we have done almost all that the genetics of existing food plants can support without radical re-engineering and dependence on hydroponic factories. Not that I can get that through the Governance Council's thick skulls, but they understand the statistics at least. We will come up with some fool reason for the failure and no one will question it."

Saine's mouth had started to twitch while he was speaking, and suddenly there was a quiet "ahem" from over Ishar's shoulder. He turned, and found himself staring at a torso made of woven vines. Slightly annoyed, he took a step back and craned his neck. "Someshta."

Someshta frowned at him. "Maker, is that true?"

"What?" Someshta was the first of the-well, the first successful Nym, anyway. Ishar had done the majority of the design work a hundred and seven years ago. He still remembered Someshta emerging from the growth tank, wondering whether this one would be another gibbering thing made of swamp muck. Fortunately, Someshta remembered that moment with equal clarity-and with gratitude.

"Is it true that you are that close to the brink? The food supply is that precarious, even with our help?"

"Well, the population has very nearly stabilized," Ishar allowed. "But only within the last hundred and fifty years. If not for you, there would have been a crash instead. A greater safety margin would be desirable."

"They don't tell us this in school," Saine gasped.

Ishar turned a cynical eye on her. "Of course they don't. Who would dare tell the children that this is anything but a perfect era of wonders?"

Someshta had gone quiet, a thoughtful expression on his green face. "If all people could channel," he mused, "or if the general level of intelligence were higher, or even if you were merely more content to live in harmony with nature-"

Ishar grimaced. "Don't push it, Someshta. We have had this discussion before."

"If your nature were different," Someshta persisted, "then the danger would be less."

"Someshta-"

"Wait," Saine interjected. "Someshta, what are you saying?"

The Nym blinked, looking confused. "I am trying to tell you, Aes Sedai, that I support you. Many of the Nym will. Not all, but many."

"Well," Ishar said, stunned, "that changes everything."

Saine smiled. "Yes. Yes, it does." Her smile, at least, was beautiful.

Ishar returned it. "Now we just need a means of bringing in volunteers."


	6. Ch 6 - Just Another Day in Paaren Disen

"...and now we have a word from Ilyena Dalisar who has apparently just returned from the negotiations with _Sindhol_."

The image atop Veraan Tower flickered, transforming to reveal Ilyena Sunhair's wearily smiling face. "It's been a rough month, certainly. I'm just glad we brought plenty of provisions."

"But the negotiations were successful?"

"After a fashion. I've been instructed to inform all comers that the Tower of Ghenjei is now off-limits. However, we have received permission to construct a pair of special gateway t_er'angreal_ that will allow limited access to the domains of the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn. At least for the moment, the remaining nations continue to deny us access to their territory. Personally, after a month of negotiating, I'm inclined to think it's just as well. Nothing is worth another day of that."

The newscaster chuckled politely. "And what do you have to say about rumors that you've just earned a third name?"

"Well, you know I can't discuss that in any official capacity. However, again, it's my personal opinion that anyone who can survive negotiating with the _Sindholi _deserves one."

This time, the newscaster laughed out loud.

"Yeah, but _she_ doesn't look like she thought it was funny." Canella Tetchin shook her head. "I bet it was a nightmare."

Her twin shook his head. "Look at the corners of her mouth. I'm sure you're right about what it was like, but she still thinks it was a little bit funny."

"Say what you like, Oloran." Canella took a moment to check the city map. "You really ought to read more stories about the otherworlds."

"So which way back to the Hall?"

Canella sighed and pointed straight at the tallest tower on the skyline. "Thataway." It was no answer. The streets here must make sense to the locals, but if you were from a farm in the Rorn M'doi...

"You'd think they would warn incoming Silu Sedai about this sort of thing."

Canella smiled grimly. "It's part of the initiation ritual. Make it back to the Hall of Servants and you get promoted to Doann Sedai."

Oloran looked around. The streets were full of pedestrians, of course. "We could just ask someone. I don't guess they taught you any way of finding your way around with the Power, did they?"

"Nah. That's the sort of thing you can only do with saidin," Canella said wryly. It was all nonsense, of course. You couldn't sense direction with the Power, let alone follow city streets with it. Though maybe... She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Behind the steering yoke. Don't try to push the jo-car, just guide it."

"Huh?"

"I bet I can trace the standing flows. The web extends all through the city, but I guarantee you it goes straight to the Hall."

"Well, yeah. So does line of sight."

Canella groaned. "I hope you never make it to Aes Sedai if you can't remember not to just extend your flows willy-nilly through buildings and everywhere. They'll follow the streets to avoid passing through anything important, except where they need to go into a building to be used. Now be quiet and let me concentrate."

Oloran thought about that and was silent. He might as well try too; he needed the practice. He fixed his mind on the image of a star. It burned hotter, hotter, shifting through the spectrum as it burned through its hydrogen. Helium, carbon, oxygen, silicon...the star went supernova, searing his mind clean, and collapsed into a black hole. Emptiness. In that emptiness, Oloran could feel the gravity-tug of saidin. He opened his eyes.

There were the standing flows, a network blanketing the city, making all kinds of common _ter'angreal_ useful to everyone. And of course, as Canella had said, they avoided passing through anything they might weaken over time. He tried tracing the lines of Spirit-like his twin, he was strongest in Spirit-back through the great web toward the Hall.

"I think we need to make a left at the next intersection," he suggested.

"Yeah, but which left?" Canella gave a significant glance at the six-pointed star ahead of them.

"Forward-left," Oloran said.

"Okay, right, I think that's it too."

"Look at all the chora trees," Oloran said with a smile. "I've never seen so many of them in one place."

"You get used to it." But Canella smiled too. Though was that because the choras were interesting, or because they were affecting her emotions? Sometimes that disturbed her just a bit. Of course, the effect was supposed to be mild. It wasn't stopping the fellow in the streith cloak from arguing with his girlfriend.

"Nice cloak," Oloran said with a chuckle. More women than men wore streith, just as more men than women wore fancloth, but it looked as if the fashion was changing in Paaren Disen. They'd seen three men in streith cloaks or robes yesterday, and a woman wearing a fancloth hat, of all things. The pair of women this morning with close-cropped hair and wearing fancloth suits in a masculine cut probably didn't count, though.

"She doesn't think so." Canella sounded baffled. "Surely that's not something worth arguing over."

"Well, if she doesn't like how it looks on him..."

"It's his business what he wears," Canella snapped.

"Whoa! Sorry, sister. I just meant she doesn't have to agree with him, that's all."

Canella scowled and looked around. "There are other people arguing too. What's the deal?" Another couple were arguing over the man supposedly cheating, which was probably enough for an argument in a whole park full of chora trees. But the businesspeople nearby were beginning to shout about the latest Tel Janin-Duram Laddel match, and a crowd was gathering around three Aes Sedai debating the nature of space-time.

Oloran tried to focus on the Oneness. "I don't know. This isn't supposed to happen. Surely not here, especially." He breathed deeply. "Wait, what's that smell, sister?"

She inhaled. "I don't know...it smells like chora scent, but not. It's as if it's been altered somehow. That doesn't make any sense. Just be quiet and let me concentrate!"

"Holy _tsag._" It made sense, all right. But who would have...? "Someone's altered the chora trees, Canella. The effects are being reversed." She ground her teeth, then opened her mouth to shout at him. "Just stop it and listen to me!"

"So don't yell at me if that's what you want!"

"I'm not yelling! Just try and think it through!"

"I can't concentrate with you shouting in my ear, Oloran! I can't...I can't...it can't be genetic restructuring. They were working right just a few minutes ago."

Oloran realized suddenly that his hands had curled into fists, and he was holding as much of the Power as he was able. "And it's getting worse. Maybe if we get inside?"

"Don't be an idiot! Someone has to stop this before there's a riot!" Canella seemed to notice his hands and balled her own into fists in response.

"How?" At least three fistfights had begun in the intersection, though so far they seemed isolated.

"Burn the choras! They're the problem!"

Oloran gaped. "That _will_ start a riot! I don't think anyone else has figured out what's wrong!"

"Just bloody do it before I start pummeling you, you idiot!" Canella raised a hand and flung a fireball at the nearest chora. Just as Oloran had feared, the act drew furious looks from everyone not already swinging fists.

"It's the trees!" he shouted at the bystanders, and concentrated hard, unleashing a thin flow of fire at another chora. He was only just able to wield enough of saidin, but he managed to set the tree aflame.

That drew the attention of the Aes Sedai physicists. Unfortunately, it seemed they'd been too absorbed in their argument to notice the altered chora scent. One of them raised a hand; Oloran threw himself out of the way of a ball of fire. At least it struck another tree. He lunged forward and grabbed the Aes Sedai by her collar. "Listen to me, you lunatic! The trees are malfunctioning. They're making us angrier!"

"That's absurd, student!" She clawed at his face, forcing him to let go to fight her off. "They aren't machines. They cannot 'malfunction'."

"Well, something is wrong with them!" Canella screamed. "Help me burn them before the fighting gets out of hand!"

The Aes Sedai's faces darkened. The pair Oloran hadn't tackled seemed to be embracing the Source, maybe linking.

Then a mass of fire filled the intersection. Superheated air seared Oloran's lungs, and the world went white...then black.


	7. Chapter 7 - Nightmarish

"Help me!"

It was a plea Nemene Damendar Boann heard every day. And every day she responded. That gave her the right to do as she pleased otherwise.

This one didn't look like he was going to be in any shape for her to enjoy for a while, though. He was a seared mass of second and third-degree burns, and from the sound of his wheezing his lungs were damaged. He would be all right, though. After all, she was Nemene Damendar Boann. At worst he might have some lingering scars.

The girl clinging to his hand was no pretty sight herself, but she was up and about. Maybe Nemene could extract the payment from her. "Let go, dear. You won't enjoy the backwash from this weave." She nodded, and Nemene realized that she could channel. A bit weaker than average for her age, but not insignificant by any means.

Nemene prepared a weave of Air, Water, Earth, and Spirit-no Fire in this; in fact, there were several gaps in the weave where one might expect Fire in a Healing web. She laid it delicately against the boy's skin and began to move it, quickly but with attention to detail, over the burnt surface. A thin mesh of connective tissue began to form adjacent to the few remaining healthy areas, spreading rapidly over the burns and preventing further fluid loss. The tissue would gradually become proper skin with further care, but now his lungs needed attention.

She laid her hand on his chest, maintaining the first weave, and Delved deeper. The alveoli of his lungs had taken some serious damage. Had his skin burns been even slighly less severe, she'd have done this first, but he was already suffering from hypovolemic shock, and his breathing, while labored, was just barely adequate.

Now she had to-

Something scuttled along the floor next to the wall.

Never mind that, she had to-

"Light, there are bugs coming out of him!"

Nemene looked up and around the trauma ward. Once the room had nearly always been empty or nearly so, but lately that had been changing. Roughly a dozen injured were on cots here, and-yes, there was a patient convulsing as arthropodal creatures poured from his orifices. Abruptly his chest ruptured, spraying blood as more "bugs" emerged from the new cavity. The creatures seemed determined to avoid the light, but apparently human insides were adequate protection; the other Restorers and a pair of orderlies struggled to keep them off the patients and themselves. Nonetheless there were so many of the things that it was plain that defeat was inevitable. Abruptly one of the orderlies also began to convulse, and more creatures began emerging from his mouth and ears as he crumpled to the ground.

She formed a simple web of Air touched with Fire and bellowed "Out! Leave them! Save the ones we can!" She scooped up her patient and his panicking sister in another web and dragged them toward the door. "We have to sterilize this room!" Another of the Restorers started to protest, and she clipped him on the head with Air. "Get him out of here!"

The girl was still wailing about the world not making any sense. Nemene gritted her teeth and ordered, "Link with me. Your brother too, if he's coherent enough."

"What?"

"We have to ensure that none of those things escape this building, or we'll have a major outbreak to contain. I'm going to kill them while I can." She filled her thoughts with the exact layout of the facility. Everyone uninfected seemed to be out. "Ring, now!" No, one of the junior Restorers-she thought the girl's name was Freyane-was still inside. There would be enough of an investigation as it was. "Where's Freyane?"

"Those things got her," shouted Halifas. "I saw her go down!"

Nemene felt Power and emotions fill her. The Restorers were stressed but not to the point of panic, which helped the girl focus. Her brother was sufficiently delirious he was barely able to join the link; for the sake of her own focus she tried to lend him a little coherence. Then she unleashed a massive and intricate flow of Fire, weaving it around every entrance to the trauma center down to the size of an air vent.

"I'm sorry," she told the rest of her team. "There was nothing we could do for the infested." For the moment, she did feel sorry-the sorrow of the rest of the ring-and it threatened to make her ill. She let the ring dissolve. As she did so, she felt an oddity from the boy.

Nemene Delved him again and found a fading spark of life. With a glare back at the facility, she wove basic Healing once more and settled it over him. "We have to get the patients to another center as quickly as possible." She opened a gateway to the Traveling room of Sessikan Intensive Health. "Get everyone through. No one else is dying today." As it was, there was already too much risk that an investigation would turn up her indiscretions.

* * *

This wasn't supposed to happen anymore.

Canella sat at her twin's bedside holding his hand. Words like "brain damage" and "may or may not awaken" flickered through her thoughts.

"You were supposed to get better," she confided, "but reality is broken. There aren't supposed to be parasite bugs and plants aren't supposed to malfunction and you're supposed to be awake and learning the Power. I'm sorry, Oloran, I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

She'd felt his thoughts. She'd felt his confusion as he faded. The others hadn't felt it so strongly, but they weren't twins, were they? The link was too strong with them.

"We had a story we were supposed to follow and we broke it. I just wish I knew what it was."

Oloran didn't answer. Not with words. But eventually, Canella heard him all the same.


	8. Chapter 8 - Well of the World's End

Mierin sat in her room alone, thinking.

It was comfortable here, psychologically as well as physically. She'd kept this same, fairly small room, since she'd gained her research position at the Collam Daan. The bed and chairs were cushioned to her liking, and all the furniture was colored as she preferred it-white with the occasional accent of black or silver. Pictures of her family lined the wall near the exit; over her bed was a lifesize one of Lews Therin. Sometimes that one was painful. Sometimes she...soothed herself to sleep by it. Right now it was just a reminder. The instruments she used most frequently in her work were on a shelf next to her computer screen. Among them sat a Well, which she'd been making more use of lately in her _stedding_ project. The Well seemed to be empty. Perhaps it was simply broken. Or...

"Lews. Please answer, Lews. I really need to talk to you. It's important." But for the fourth time today, the callbox sat silently in her palm. She was getting nowhere with this. Lews deserved the chance to investigate, and she wanted to spend time with him even apart from that. But if he wasn't interested, a week was more than long enough to waste. Mierin shifted the weaves. "Elan, I have a matter you may be interested in. It relates to the basic substance of the One Power."

Almost immediately Elan's voice answered her. "Mierin! It's been some time. I hope that you're well. Lews Therin tells me you've been trying to get in touch with him."

"To the Can Breat with Lews Therin! I wanted to give him first crack at helping me solve this, but if he won't answer my calls, I'm happy to share the credit with you."

Elan caught her mood. He was good at that. He gave a brief, self-deprecating chuckle, and said, "I wasn't aware that you needed help on that kind of problem, other than someone to channel saidin for you, but I'm glad to offer any assistance I can."

"As it happens," Mierin muttered, "I've already had someone check for saidin. I wish the problem were that simple."

"Oh, Mierin." Elan's tone was wry. "What would you do in a world with only simple problems?"

"You've heard the rumors, I suspect. Anomalous incidents that seem to break the laws of reality itself, generally destructive in nature."

"I've been involved in one myself," Elan sighed. "I've been trying to map out the locations for them, but they seem to have no center. I suppose the center could be some extra-spatial location-a vacuole, perhaps."

Mierin pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Perhaps a vacuole. Possibly. I have my doubts. But I need to explain. Last week..."

_ The storm sprang up out of nowhere in defiance of the weather-regulating web. Mierin seemed to be merely on the fringes of it, but she was quickly soaked. Lightning surged and thunder cracked, with bolts originating from the buildings far more often than the cloudless sky. More than once she saw a bolt shoot _out_ of a lightning rod, each time to strike at some unfortunate trying to get out of the rain._

_ Mierin suspected someone must be tampering with the regulatory _ter'angreal_. Storms simply didn't happen at random in the cities, especially not storms like this one. She decided to sap its energy at the source. Preparing a complex web of Spirit, Water, and Air, she drew on her research _angreal_ and flung the web as wide as she could. The storm imploded on itself, vanishing almost at once, as her conduit siphoned the energy out of it and into her Well._

"But it wasn't the One Power that was making the storm," Mierin finished. "Not only did a search find no one tampering with the regulatory web, my Well turned out to be empty. Only...it wasn't. Not really."

"How so?"

"There's no saidar in it. Nor is it full of saidin, my brother says. I thought for a while I'd misaligned the web and damaged it somehow, so I started running some tests. The Well is intact, and Higgs-Gibson field interactions tell me that it's full. Of something."

"Something? Wasn't it your Higgs-Gibson field experiments that found the source of power you and Beidomon were trying to tap into?" Elan's voice held concern.

"Yes. Yes, it was. Elan, I thought I knew all the damage I'd done. But now these...anomalies are happening, and they've got an energy signature that matches the power beyond the Bore. What if I've...how do I even put it? Broken the universe? How do I fix it? Can it even be fixed?"

There was a long pause. "In my experience, Mierin, whatever can be done can be undone. Tell me, Mierin, do I understand correctly that the Bore isn't actually at the Collam Daan?"

"The Bore is...well, everywhere and nowhere, Elan. It's closest to our space-time at Kemali, but we couldn't drill it there, in the middle of a resort town. We opened a microscopic gateway from inside the Sharom to a mile underneath the bedrock there, then set up containment fields at both ends."

"Did you know there's anomalous volcanic activity at Kemali? It's being chalked up to another of those bizarre events, but it's quite persistent."

Mierin stared. "Kemali's geologically inert. It has been for millennia at least."

"Not any more, Mierin."

"We have to go there. Do you think you can talk to Lews? I'll see if I can reach Barid. He was next on my list after the two of you. If the Bore is still open, if it's leaking some kind of dangerous energies, I have to close it. It's my responsibility, Elan. I'll try alone if I have to."

"I...I will try to help you, Mierin. And yes, I'll speak to Lews Therin. First, though, is there any chance I could examine your Well? If the energy is inherently dangerous, then by all means we need to close the Bore at once. But perhaps it's merely uncontrolled. The One Power would do as much if you simply let random flows loose."

Mierin sighed in relief. "I was hoping you'd ask that, Elan. Yes, we'll try to tap and study the Well together."


	9. Chapter 9 - World-Wide Webs

Duram Laddel Cham reached out for a stone, studied the board again, and hesitated. Lillen had somehow managed to surround a good quarter of his stones. Well, they _had_ been playing this game for over a day, on and off. The youngster wasn't a bad player, by any means, but she was far too defensive. He'd tried playing tcheran with her too, and there as well she had wasted a good hour establishing her defenses before making an attack. Perhaps he would try sha'rah with her next time. She claimed never to have played the game, but a solid defense was even more critical in it than in the other two. Even if that fellow Elan said otherwise.

Finally he placed a stone that would, hopefully, disrupt her attack. She was no master-no one was a master this young-but she was good, after a fashion. Very subtle.

"I'm a little surprised you came to me, Lillen," he said. "You know who I am, don't you?"

"I know you're the best advocate on the planet," Lillen responded, "and I need the best." She leaned over the board, pretending to poke at the pieces with her fingers. It was a deception, he'd found. Lillen could remember the arrangement of an entire board three days later, if she took a moment to fix it in her mind. There was no need for her to study what he had done. More than likely she already had a countermove.

"Lillen," he sighed, "your crimes are serious, but you have committed no violent acts. You are not a murderer or a rapist. You have assaulted no one. Your alleged thefts consist almost entirely of electronic blips in the computer network. The worst you can expect is to be bound, and you would probably be released on good behavior within a decade. Unless there's something else you don't want me to know."

Lillen ran a cool gaze over him, sizing him up. "All right," she said, "you want a reason? Here's my reason: I'm guilty. I admit it to you freely."

Duram blinked. He hadn't expected that at all. "I'm not certain what you hope to gain from such an admission. I maintain a high ethical standard in my work, Lillen. I didn't get to be First Among Servants for thirty years by lying about guilty clients." He'd tired of it, finally, and declined to stand for a fourth term, but he knew that if he ever asked for the position, the ajah would fall all over themselves to put him back in power. It was too much, though. He'd been four hundred seventy-eight when he stepped down, but he'd felt over seven hundred. The two years that had passed had restored some of his energy, but far from all.

"Let me explain, Duram Sedai," she said respectfully, and he lifted an eyebrow at her. Lillen didn't show respect casually. "The regulations on trading are literally older than-no offense-you are. They've remained essentially unchanged for two millennia. They don't take into account changes in technology. They don't take into account the huge age gap between the main body of the population and Aes Sedai and Ogier, either. Yes, I had a stake in several of the companies I was recommending. I hold stock in multiple conglomerates, and I'm not quite two hundred years old, Duram. I knew inside information because I grew up with the heads of a dozen different corporations and have met more in my line of work. You're well over twice my age. How did you manage to divest yourself of conflicting business interests when you sat in the HIgh Seat?"

"With immense effort," Duram said slowly. "As it was, I ended up having to transfer all but a tiny handful of my money to holding companies, and at that I'm not sure I couldn't have been challenged and impeached if I'd given enough people reason to."

"You were a popular leader, Duram Sedai, and your policies were extremely sound. But what if you'd made a misstep? What if you'd slipped up on that agricultural crisis in the Rorn M'doi? Millions of people could have starved, and not from any wrongdoing on your part. Or the cold war with Sindhol? Or if the terraforming on Mars had gone sour? They didn't call you the Netweaver for nothing, Duram, but every net has weak spots."

Sometime during all that she'd started removing his stones from the board, and now it looked like she might have a third of what remained in her sights. How did she do it? "I think I see where you're going with this, Lillen, and it's a valid argument. I'm not sure how it will play with the courts, though. Being able to channel gives us immense power and prestige, and contrary to what you might see on the surface, there are elements of society that consider it too much. I understand the difficulties you're pointing out. I don't think we should have to step lightly in our dealings to keep from accumulating 'too much power', or that we should have to pretend we don't know things we know. But so far, no one's proposed a workable alternative. If anything, there's been a stable alliance of ajah for most of a century that proposes that, after a normal human lifespan, we should have to divest ourselves of most of our property and resign from political office outside the Hall of the Servants." He placed a stone near the center of the board. It was almost purely a distraction, but if she ignored it long enough he could use it to surround half her pieces.

Lillen made a disgusted face. "That's the most despicable load of choss I've ever heard of! We _deserve_ to-! I mean, we have the experience, the knowledge, and the power to run a great deal more of society than we do, and do it better than ordinary people."

Duram tapped his fingers on the desk. "You are _not_ helping your case with me, Ms. Moiral. It's your move, by the way."

She placed a stone, looking distracted. "I'm sorry for my outburst, Duram Sedai. I think my point is valid, all the same. Democracy assumes that people are roughly equal in their capabilities; otherwise we couldn't give their input equal validity. There's a reason we don't allow children and the mentally-disabled to vote, after all. The same is true, in reverse, for us. We can do better for ordinary humans than they can for themselves." She was falling for his diversion on the no'ri board. A shame.

"If you want me to make that argument before the court, Lillen, I will, mostly because I'm certain it will lose you the case. Even if I grant everything you've said, it still doesn't guarantee us moral superiority, Ms. Moiral. We may make fewer mistakes, but we can do all the more wrong on purpose."

The younger Aes Sedai shook her head. "I suppose I see where you're going, Duram Sedai. I wish you'd take me seriously about the underlying problem, though, even if you don't trust me. I'm not just proposing a defense. This is the whole reason I did what I did I want to change society. I want to make a difference." She glanced down at the board. "Bajad drovja! Did I do that?"

"I'm afraid so," Duram said with a sigh. "And you were doing so well. I would rather not take your case, Lillen Sedai, but if you can find another advocate I will serve in a consulting role. Your arguments do have some merit, and it would be worthwhile to have them examined in a public forum. I'm just not certain you're the right person to bring it to popular attention. And you've indicated to me that you are, at least, technically guilty of the crimes you're accused of."

"I understand," Lillen said disappointedly. "I'll let you know if I find someone. Oh, and I concede the game. I've messed this one up somewhere." She had, at that. Her last stone was badly misplaced, leaving her vulnerable.

She rose from her chair. Duram did the same and offered her his hand to shake; she took it reluctantly. "I wish you luck in your trial, Lillen, I really do. Especially if you're sincere in your desire for positive social change. And I hope to talk with you again in the future. You're young, Lillen, and you sound idealistic, which is a good thing. You simply have to learn to use the proper means."

She smiled faintly at him. "I'll be back."

* * *

Ared Mosinel touched a thread to the callbox. "Yes, Lillen?"

"I'm transmitting the recording now. He said the things you hoped he would say. He sees merit in my opinions, he won't take my case because he believes I'm guilty, _and_ if he did take the case he'd make an argument he's sure will lose."

Ared smiled. "Good, good. I appreciate your efforts, Lillen. I'll send you the credits in just a moment. Might I interest you in something more personal?" He glanced at the view-wall, which showed his currently unprogrammed servants idling in the recovery hall. Lillen liked men with olive complexions and broad shoulders. Getting her a witty conversationalist would be more difficult, but sufficient programming could build up a database.

"Thanks but no thanks, sir. I can't afford to be caught with something like that at the moment. May I ask what you're planning?"

"You may ask," Ared chuckled. If she half-lived up to her reputation, Lillen Moiral either already knew or at least could work it out in a few moments.

"I should go," she said, and terminated the connection. He didn't try to re-establish it; she would have her reasons. Someone too close, most likely. Instead he turned to his computer and began preparing a message for Mierin Eronaile. She had a great deal of public sympathy at the moment.

It was time to disrupt that.

* * *

"He has the information, Vairan," Lillen's voice said.

Vairan son of Goran son of Tonath smiled. "Good. Now that I know he's moving, we can begin to draw him out. We know he's planning to disrupt the election somehow. I suspect he wants to discredit top candidates, prepare the way for someone under his thumb."

"I don't think Duram wants the High Seat again," Lillen opined. "He seems...tired."

"Our hidden player may not know that," said Vairan. "Or he may believe that Duram will take the office if he thinks it could be compromised otherwise. Duram will probably see what's happening once the campaigning actually begins and key players start suffering scandals. He is clever that way."

"He fell for my little distraction with the no'ri board," Lillen said. "Maybe he's not as clever as his reputation would have it."

"Always possible," Vairan acknowledged. Humans were rarely as clever as they thought. Even Aes Sedai. "In any case, we'll know who our secret keeper is in a few months. There may be an even bigger scandal when he's captured, but better to spray the weeds than let them grow."

"Thank you, Vairan son of Goran son of Tonath. Light shine on you."

Vairan put the callbox away and stepped back into the stedding, thumbing idly at his earring. Most Ogier looked at him askance for having one, but not his wife. She understood. Some things needed to change. A few even needed to change quickly. The first was, it was time to drag the Aes Sedai from power while there was still a world to repair.

For that, Vairan would be as hasty as he needed to be.

* * *

Lillen powered up the callbox one more time. "You wanted the best distraction money can buy. You've got it, as long as you can hold out till the interim election."

"Good work, little sister," said Nemene.


	10. Chapter 10 - Good Sports

Tel Janin ignored the cheering masses. They meant nothing. Stones Falling Down the Mountain met his Unfolding the Fan. He took a step backward, but only a step, and he smiled. "I would not have thought an old man like you had such aggression in him."

Duram Laddel chuckled as he sprang away. The crowd meant more to him than to his opponent; he fell into something like Cat Crosses the Courtyard as he circled. More fool he. "Why not, Tel? What have I got to lose?" His laughter rang across the arena, mingling with the chanting: "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!"

Tel wondered what it was like to be in Duram's position as he swirled through Leaf On the Breeze, holding off the older fellow's Three-Pronged Lightning. He had been champion here for a good thirty-five years, but Duram had been champion for _sixty_, until an ordinary citizen had taken the title from him. Then Duram had left the sport to focus on politics. For a full century, Swords had been an occasional pastime, indulged enough to stay barely in practice. The years must have done more than taken his edge off, but it seemed that a blademaster of Duram's skill did not forget so easily as one might think.

Of course, there was no way he was going to beat Tel Janin. "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!" The two had met in a couple of exhibition matches since the older man retired from being First Among Servants, and Tel had defeated him each time, though not without a good workout first. "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!" Duram lunged forward, Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose, and Tel grunted as he stepped aside with Cat on Hot Sand. Maybe it was his stocky build, but somehow no one ever seemed to expect Tel to dodge. "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!"

This was more than an exhibition match. Duram had worked his way through the lower ranks over the past year, defeating them with something resembling his old flair. The man's preference for the complex extended even to swordfighting. He could certainly execute a direct attack when he chose, but he always seemed to do it with an eye for the dramatic. Maybe that had made him a good lawyer and politician, and no doubt it had made him popular in the arena. It could not make him a winner, however.

Now he had challenged Tel Janin. The fellow almost seemed to regard the match as a joke-not a sport, merely a game. Duram laughed as he performed Heron Spreads Its Wings. "Tel Janin, can you not enjoy yourself a little?" Perhaps this was part of his bucket list. Duram was clearly not on his last legs, but his once-black hair had gone stark white on the sides. "They're cheering for you."

"I don't do it for the adulation, Duram Laddel." Sensing the moment, he countered not with a defense, but with KIngfisher Takes a Silverback. "I don't do it for the fans. I do it for myself."

Duram went so far as to roll his eyes as he swiftly aborted into The Grapevine Twines. "Then laugh because you're having fun, man!"

Of _course_ he was having fun. Did he have to cackle like a hyena to let everyone know that? He could feel his muscles starting to burn. He could feel the trickle of sweat starting to run down his temple. Tel brought his sword up, breaking away from Duram's spiral motion.

And he smiled.

"All right, Tel. I take it back! That looks horrifying on you," Duram chuckled.

Tel let his smile grow wider, showing perfect white teeth. He attacked. The Lion Springs. Boar Rushes Down the Mountain. The Viper Flicks Its Tongue. Moon Rises Over Water. Duram countered each blow, but each forced his sword further away from where it needed to be. River Undercuts the Bank left him with no choice but to lean much too far back, and Duram nearly fell. In that moment, Tel Janin decided to defeat the fellow with his own whimsy. While Duram teetered there on the brink of toppling over backwards, Tel assumed Heron Wading in the Rushes-looking all the more absurd, given how Duram virtually towered over him-and struck before Duram could recover. His bundled rods punctured the outer surface of Duram's protective chestgear and finished knocking the fellow over.

Even Tel Janin knew he had to milk the crowd a little. He spread his arms and basked in the swell of applause, turning slowly. When he faced Duram again, he leaned down and offered him a hand. "Good match, 'old man'."

Duram accepted the assistance gladly, getting up with the faintest hint of stiffness, but just as much good humor as before. "Indeed. Have you ever in your life used that form, Tel? Even in practice?"

"Not my style," Tel said with a faint grimace. "Leaves you wide open."

"No," said Duram, "but it was funny. The crowd loved it."

"Good for them. Did you challenge me just to get me to act the fool?"

"I challenged you to _win_," Duram said, surprisingly. "And I'll do it again after the requisite period. Truthfully, I thought I'd make you break form. But you do need to lighten up a bit."

Tel nodded respectfully. There was more to Duram than he'd realized, more fool he. "Well, then, you know it doesn't work."

"I know," Duram said, making a polite series of bows to the audience. "I'll keep it in mind next time."

"Do that," Tel said, and cast his gaze upward towards the crowd. "Do I have a challenger?" he bellowed. Usually there would be no answer, but it was polite-a way of letting ambitious challengers from other cities avoid the bureaucratic protocols of the sporting world.

"Yes!" came a shout from the higher tiers. Well, that wasn't what he'd expected. Then he saw who was making his way down, and sighed. "You face Barid Bel Medar! Prepare to defend yourself!"

"He thinks a great deal of himself," Duram muttered in Tel's ear. "But he is good."

Barid Medar had finally earned a third name just a few months ago, after publishing an insightful and best-selling treatise on the nature of leadership in a post-crisis world. Yet again, he'd been beaten out by Lews Therin, who'd been elected to hold the Fifth Rod of Dominion at the polls two weeks before. Getting elected to high office generally earned you a third name, unless you bungled immediately, though in truth most successful candidates already had one; Lews had been the exception in that regard. The newsfeeds were eating up the good-natured rivalry between the two famous men, and of course the rag services were hinting that it hadn't caused any worse trouble because they were secretly sharing a bed. Tel didn't concern himself with such things, though he suspected their egos would never allow that to work.

"Not alone!" came a cry from the opposite end of the arena. "Lews Therin Telamon challenges you as well!"

This time it was Duram's turn to sigh. "Two on two, it seems. Well, I guess these old bones will have to hold out a little longer." He quirked a half-smile; it seemed he wasn't completely serious. But he did grunt a little and flex his joints.

All this would only count as an exhibition match, of course, but it would build the younger mens' already-inflated reputations. If they chose to go for the championship, this match would boost their ratings with the public, and they would be ranked higher regarding how many opponents they had to defeat first. Tel had the suspicion that if they somehow both won, they'd turn on each other-all in good sport, of course. Had they even planned this out between them, or had Lews sprung it on his friend?

Lews and Barid came leaping over the dividing wall simultaneously, and approached from opposite ends of the field, bowing once to each of their opponents. At least they were being polite. "Did you know anything about this?" Tel muttered to Duram.

Duram shook his head fractionally. "Not a bit," he said as quietly as possible. "And they're both courting my grandniece Ilyena. I would have thought she'd have said something even if neither of them did."

The younger pair began to circle them, both in Cat Crosses the Courtyard. Tel took a deep breath. Well, there was no question of one thing-it was going to be fun.


	11. Chapter 11 - Hours Only Lonely

"You realize the improbability of your story, I presume."

"I realize it, Kamarile Sedai. It's true all the same. The Venusian terraforming station was overrun by walking dead men. No, I don't know where they came from or what reanimated them."

Eval adjusted his position on the couch, trying to conceal his reaction to her. She'd done her best to dress unattractively, but there was only so much one could do while still looking professional.

"And you hold to the story as well, Letan?"

Letan seemed visibly nervous, tugging at her collar. "It's the truth. I can't promise they'll be there if we go back. I can't promise they won't, either. We need to send an automated device to get a better look at the place before we resume the mission. Or give it up, I suppose, if there are still monsters swarming the surface."

"I'm sure that suggestion has already occurred to the Rodholders." Kamarile consulted her notes. "Neither of you are showing any signs of abnormal stress trauma. Eval, we will have to keep an eye on you because of your past episodes of violence. You're not a suspect, but your problems could be exacerbated by this incident."

Eval spoke up. "We're sure Detosh is all right, aren't we?"

"To the best of my knowledge, he is. The bite was infected, but only in a fairly ordinary manner. You don't have to fear he'll vomit blood and rise from the dead." She checked her files quickly; yes, that was what the medical report said. Though it was odd that normal Earth bacteria would be found on Venus.

Letan uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Why was she fidgeting so much? Wait. Kamarile reached up and fiddled with a button on her suit. Eval, of course, pretended so transparently not to stare that he might as well have goosed her. Letan...blushed faintly and looked away. So that was how it was. Well, it might do Eval some good to have a friendship with a woman he couldn't seduce.

"I intend to keep a close watch on you both. I won't violate your privacy, but you should remember that I'm here to listen to any difficulties you may have in the future." Eval quirked a faint smile. "Try not to waste my time, please." Letan managed to look simultaneously dejected and relieved. No doubt she knew that Kamarile had no interest in a sexual relationship of any kind.

Kamarile flipped up her viewscreen by way of dismissal. She had several minutes before her next client, and she intended to make use of them. Eval and Letan glanced at each other, mutually shrugged, and told her good evening.

The new program "A. M." had sent her certainly had its points. As an accurate depiction of Compulsion, it failed rather dramatically, but flows were difficult to record on any medium, and in any case, the scenario worked better psychologically than an Aes Sedai staring at someone and forming a web on their brain. There was the question of where A. M. had gotten his actors, of course, but there was no evidence of anything untoward on the video. It was a harmless indulgence, one that would likely lose its appeal over the course of a few months. And if it didn't, well, Kamarile knew how to discipline herself.

* * *

"Whew," Letan muttered. "I have to admit, that just isn't fair. At least we didn't run into Mierin Eronaile coming in for trauma counseling on our way out."

"How is that an 'at least we didn't'?" Eval asked. "I wouldn't have minded."

"We don't stand any more chance with her than with Kamarile Sedai," Letan pointed out. "She's basically Lews-Therin-sexual."

"So we go out on the town and take out our fantasies on whoever we meet at the bar," Eval suggested. "Or failing that, we retire to our respective beds and spin the Mirror of Mists in the air above us."

"You have a twisted and disturbing perspective on dates, Eval." Letan shook her head in mock disapproval.

"Is that an agreement to be my wingman?"

"No," Letan said, "but I'll let you be mine."

"You're on."

* * *

"Kamarile," the receptionist program said. "Next client in two minutes."

Kamarile sighed regretfully and fastened her pants. She could have used a little longer. "Who's the next client again?"

"Elan Morin Tedronai."

"Really? Elan? I'd forgotten entirely...it's been years."

"Null input," said the receptionist unhelpfully.

A chime rang out just before Elan strolled casually into the office. He took a moment to lean over and inhale the scent of some fresh flowers she'd left on her desk before sitting down on the couch.

"That's a rather strong scent," Elan observed.

"They're engineered for it," Kamarile informed him. "It's one of Ishar's lesser triumphs, but I find them quite nice."

"Yes, I agree," Elan said mildly. Curious...Elan never commented on flowers and the like.

"Are you feeling all right, Elan?" There was always the danger of a relapse, even hundreds of years later, when you went through what Elan had. Every so often, something would set the man off and he'd revert to obsessing about death.

"I'm feeling well, actually, Kamarile. That's what I came here to discuss."

"Elan, I don't think it would be wise to simply break off treatment sessions. I know you need them quite infrequently these days, but you remember your sister's accident." The computer controls on her jo-car had failed, and for weeks she'd been on the verge of death before finally pulling through. Eventually, Restorers had even managed to get rid of the tremors nerve damage had caused in her arms. In the meanwhile, however, Elan had gone into another suicidal episode.

"You don't understand, Kamarile." Elan leaned forward on the couch. "I know I will probably always need occasional counseling. But I've found a mystery worth solving, I think. I expect it will keep my attention for the foreseeable future. I came to let you know that, for the moment, I have a very good reason to live...and to let you in on it."

* * *

Joar turned to face the music with a sigh.

"I know this has been a struggle for you all," he said. His bandmates watched him impassively. "Aside from the memorial concert-which I admit as an obvious fluke-we've been performing to smaller and smaller crowds for the last five years. I don't know what I've been doing differently. I don't know how I've lost my touch. But I take responsibility. If anyone wants to stay and work with me, feel free to do so. If not, I wish you the best of luck."

Irridel, his percussionist, nodded. "I wish you the same, Joar. I hate to say it, but I feel as if I've given up enough of my life to this band. I like all you people well enough, and I hope to stay in touch, but, well...look, I can't channel. Ten years is nothing to you, but it's a good bit of my life. I need to figure out what to do with what's left." Joar tried to offer him a friendly handshake, but Irridel clasped him in a warm hug instead, then offered the same to each of the rest in turn.

His balfonist and backup vocalist, Xaradu, gave a half-hearted shrug. "To be honest, I don't know what else to do right now. If you don't mind, I'll stay on as long as there's a band to be on." She gave Irridel another, briefer hug, and went to stand by Joar. "There may come a time when I concede that it's over. Not yet."

"I think it'd be different," said his bass vocalist and guitarist, Godan, "if we were more famous. I'd really prefer to stay. But my mother wants me married, and for that I have to return to Stedding Tsofu. If I can, and you hold the band together, maybe I'll be back." He reached down and patted Joar on the shoulder.

Nen, who played the corea and the flute, was the last to speak up. "If you'll take my advice, Joar...I wonder if the culture isn't leaving us behind. Look, for the last couple of hundred years there's been a trend toward abstract, intellectual music. There's nothing wrong with that, it's just a style, but before all these 'sound sculptures', people used to listen to music that excited their passions. Maybe we ought to get out in front and try doing that again."

Joar hesitated. "I...well, Nen, I've been part of that trend, you know. Are you sure I'm even capable of playing the kind of music you're thinking of?"

Nen nodded vigorously. "You bet you are, Joar! I've listened to everything you've done. You're a musical genius, whether the world acknowledges it any more or not. You fell in line with what was being offered at the time, and I don't blame you for doing it, but maybe that's your problem. Maybe you've been stuck into a style that just doesn't fit you. Besides," he added with a grin, "I've read that a lot of the time, musicians like that get by on looking good, like us."

"So we just look good, is that it?" Joar pretended offense.

Xaradu winked at him. "Not 'just', but you do. "

Joar looked around. "All right, then. Thanks to both of you for staying, and good luck to Godan and Irridel. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for elsewhere. With that taken care of, we need a couple more musicians. I'll try and write up something different, and we'll see where it takes us."

"To the music," Godan said amiably, and the rest chimed in after him. "To the music."

* * *

"Lews."

"Mierin." It was the first time he'd been in a room with her in years. It seemed that for once, Lews Therin had no idea what to say. "I'm sorry for not answering your calls. I didn't realize-"

"That it was actually important? Yes, Lews, a renowned physicist is your delusional stalker and fangirl. I actually thought about not bringing you in on this after all." She watched the sheepish look grow on his face.

"So why did you?"

"Because you really are one of my few intellectual peers. Because I can trust you to do the right thing where the world is concerned, even if you are an ass to your girlfriend. And because, in spite of everything, I really do love you."

Lews frowned thoughtfully. Well, he had better think on that. She wasn't going to let him go so easily this time. She hadn't gone to all this trouble to get his attention again just to have him tell her she was a power-crazed stalker for a second time. She picked up her mug of coffee and took a sip. Unfortunately, Elan seemed to think everyone liked their milk to have a little coffee in it; she set the mug down with a grunt of disgust.

Elan strode back into the room at that moment, chatting with Barid. "...and now I think it's time we got this little coffee hour going...what, Mierin?" Mierin glared at the mug, then back at him. "Oh. Well, there's another pot now if you want something different. The object of discussion today is this." He set the little gold-inscribed cylinder down on the table. "Mierin filled this well by draining a storm that she believed to have been created with the One Power. Yet it seems, on first examination, to still be empty. We now believe it may be full of the same force she and Beidomon tried to tap at the Sharom, and that the storm was caused by its uncontrolled radiation from the Bore."

Barid recoiled from the well. "Shouldn't we simply destroy that? Or at least lock it away? Whatever it was you tried to tap into, Mierin, it destroyed most of the Collam Daan."

"I'm aware of that," she said icily. "More aware than you will ever be. Unfortunately, we need to study it to prevent more disasters from taking place. Once we understand what it is, we can properly seal the Bore and have done with it."

Elan pointed out, "We have reason to think that multiple recent apparent violations of natural law are the result of uncontrolled Bore radiation. I have files on incidents ranging from a reversal of the normal effects of chora trees to a collapse of the grid lines in Tzora, leading to widespread outages, to the transformation of one unfortunate man into a puddle of inanimate water."

Mierin supposed that if he didn't want to bring up the holographic dragon attack, it wasn't her place to raise the issue. "I started all this. It's my job to finish it. Elan thinks there may still be a way to harness the energy, but if you ask me, it's not workable at this time. Maybe in a century we'll be advanced enough to try again."

"I can't imagine why the Creator would make such a force if not for us to use in some way," Elan argued.

Mierin looked to Barid and Lews, rather than answering. "You all know my opinion on the idea of a Creator. But even if there is one, and even if he did mean for us to use it, we're just not ready yet."

"I can't believe we're the only ones you thought of inviting to this little social," Barid questioned, sipping his coffee.

"We have a number of other candidates," Mierin said, "and we may still be contacting some of them. Ishar Morrad Chuain was our next pick, but he'd be working out of his field. Also, I'm a little concerned about his transhumanist leanings. He originally supported the Bore project, and he might be too myopic to help us close it now."

"I thought you were transhumanist yourself, Mierin." Barid's response was probably meant to be some kind of counter.

"I am. But responsibly. The Bore is not a viable source of power at this time. I'm not opposed to keeping some of the energy around to study, especially if it helps us seal the puncture back up, but that's all."

"I've spoken to Kamarile," Elan brought up, "but so far she knows only that I'm working on the mystery of the anomalies. If the rest of you approve, I'll fill her in the rest of the way, but I don't know that she'll want to get involved. It's even further out of her line of work than Ishar's."

Lews swirled his coffee, looking troubled. "Why not bring this up to the Collam Daan? Or better yet, to the Hall of the Servants?"

"The Hall is in a transitional state," Elan said. "They chose Rexam Wol as an interim First Servant to even out the power vacuum left by Duram's departure. I'm concerned that Rexam would be very out of his league in dealing with the kind of crisis this could turn into, and I'd rather not provoke a vote of no confidence unless a crisis actually has arisen."

"You do realize that people have died already." Lews took a swallow of coffee.

"People die," Elan said. "I hope that doesn't sound callous, but the numbers at present are barely above the background count. Consider what may happen if it suddenly worsens while the Hall of Servants is in a state of disarray. Yes, if we cannot solve it ourselves, we should get help. But why make matters worse if it isn't necessary?"

Lews made a face; Mierin wasn't sure whether it was for the uncomfortable moral situation or the coffee. He had some self-righteous tendencies, but overall he was a pragmatic man. She admired that in him.

Just as he seemed about to say something, the door chimed. "Are you expecting someone else, Elan?" Barid looked uneasy. "I thought it was to be the four of us for now."

"No one," Elan said quietly. "But if it's who I suspect it is, I trust him. Even with this."

Barid shot a blank look at Mierin, who offered one back. Lews looked just as baffled. Elan gave them a faint smile and opened the door. The man standing in the hall had faintly sallow skin, glossy black hair, and a bit of a tilt to his eyes. Yet in many ways his facial structure resembled Elan's. Certainly he had more cheer in his smile than she'd ever seen Elan have. He seemed about the same age as the rest of them, perhaps a decade or two younger; it was hard to say except that he wore a fashionable fancloth cloak, cut just so.

At the sight of him, Elan...brightened. It was astonishing to see her former teacher smile like that. "Mael," he said, and gathered the man into an embrace.

"Am I interrupting something?" the younger man queried, looking around the room. "No worries. Any friends of yours are friends of mine, father."


	12. Chapter 12 - Unseen

Ilyena sawed away at her steak. Not that it needed it-rather, she needed an outlet. "I can't believe anyone would send me that!"

Barid scowled. "And you say this 'A. M.' seemed to think you were interested? In a...'pet'?"

"He did! He offered me my choice of sex, age, and personality type. I tried tracing the message but it got caught in a loop somewhere. And running a search turned up about a million names with those initials." She stuffed a bite of meat into her mouth. Barid really was a wonderful cook.

"I'm sure that's why he uses them. No need for an alias if initials are that nondescript." He fiddled about with his fork and the baked potato for a moment. "How can he offer you a choice of personality type? Even if he has them Compelled, I seem to recall that it just makes them adore you and want to obey."

"Well, I looked into it. There was some research done on it for a little while after it was discovered three hundred years ago. On criminals, of course. It can be used to reduce a mind to a blank slate, so presumably if you knew how you could fill it up again. But they couldn't find a way of storing a personality template, so whoever was working with it had to start from scratch every time." Ilyena paused for a few moments to scarf down a few more bites of steak.

"Do you think A. M. knows something they didn't? It's been three hundred years. That's more than long enough to refine the weaves, maybe even develop some kind of personality-storing device."

"It's possible. Anyway, I'm sorry I can't get involved in this business with the Bore right this moment. I'll help if it turns into a crisis, but somebody needs to track down A. M., whoever he is, and his little ring of traffickers." She reached for another bite of steak and realized it was gone. "Oh, and non sequitur aside...if you ask me, you're a much better cook than Lews."

Surprisingly, Barid beamed at her. She hadn't realized she was being _that_ effusive. "Mierin doesn't think so."

"Mierin just doesn't like you, Barid. It's as simple as that." There was still some baked potato left, at least. "You said you had Elan, Lews, Mierin, and...Elan's son? Mael? That should be enough to shut off the flow of energy. Again, if it's not, just contact me and I'll show up on the double. I never knew Elan had a son."

"He's almost our age," Barid confided. "Seems Elan had a childhood sweetheart. He wouldn't say much about her, though. Went all distant when we started asking questions. All Mael would say about the matter was that when his father got into a black mood he'd joke that the family name was really short for 'Moridin'. I can only assume she's dead."

"The linguistics don't work," Ilyena pointed out, "but I would guess he knows that. I guess you could just slur it... I don't suppose that matters, though." She began gathering up her dishes. "Speaking of names, I'm thinking of putting mine in."

"Er...into what?" Barid paused in stacking the plates. "The election? You'd be wonderful in the High Seat, but won't people say you're too young?"

"Not necessarily. Not right after the negotiations with _Sindhol_. What a nightmare that was. But I came out on top...I think...more or less. That's what people will remember about me for the next few years, that I beat the Aelfinn and Eelfinn at their own game." They put the dishes into the reclamator together, and he motioned her over to the couch.

Barid's apartment really was very nice. A little on the small side, but cozy. He favored dark reddish tones, like the maroon couch, but not the bright red colors that might have made the room look bloody. Still, one of these days he was going to have to put up the money for a real house if he wanted people to take him seriously as a politician.

"I need all the resources I can get if I'm going to track down that sleaze, whoever he is. Being First Among Servants would give me a massive advantage over him. I could even campaign on the issue."

"Would your uncle help you out?" Barid raised an eyebrow at her.

"Duram?" She snickered. "Uncle Duram is as honest as the day is long. He'd call it undue influence and say no. I'm not going to give him the chance to refuse. If I can ride a little on his coattails by being his relative, I'll take it, but that's the extent of his help."

"Better than nothing," Barid said. "So...I wish you the best of luck. You'll probably need it."

"Likewise," Ilyena told him with a smile. "I mean to see that scum bound. I suppose in a way it'll be a taste of his own medicine. I just wish I knew how he'd stayed off the grid so well."

"He's deeper in the underworld than I'd realized existed, I guess," said Barid. "Now...were you planning to go home?"

Ilyena flashed him her best smile. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd let me stay here for the night."

* * *

"Turn to your neighbor," the speaker proclaimed. "Turn to them, and embrace." The high-ceilinged hall carried his voice so well that the Power could hardly have done better. His audience obeyed, most with peaceful smiles.

"Now, those of you who can channel, look to the Power and take hold of it," said the speaker. He seemed a dry, dusty little man, but his voice carried throughout the hall. "The One Power is the Creator's love, given to us not as a mere tool, but as a symbol. Feel the Creator's love for you. Feel the life flow through you. Many are called, but few chosen to hold the One Power. Yet they are gifts from the Creator to us all."

"Some among the Servants of All seek to twist the Power. To bend it into their service. To uncover what the Creator has left hidden. Such people risk more than they know. They delve into shadow, and the shadow takes hold inside them."

"Alas," the listeners proclaimed by rote. Such was the dogma of the Incastar. None could confirm it, but they knew.

"The Creator has given to us all different gifts, Talents of the Power among them. To some he has given healing, to others telekinesis, to others the making of gateways, to others power over weather. But to others he has also given persuasive speech, great beauty, strength and dedication, power of will. None are greater than the others. Nor does the Creator make mistakes."

"The Creator makes no mistakes," chanted the listeners.

"Never fear to use the gifts that the Creator has given you, for all gifts are given for a purpose. Love each other and use your gifts without fear."

"Amen," said the listeners, "amen." "Amen," said Ared Mosinel.


	13. Chapter 13 - Follow You Into the Dark

"I'd call this more than a volcanic vent," Mierin said. The earth in front of her had rent itself open, revealing a lake of red-hot lava, around which a ring of black rock had already begun to form. "At least it's not a mountain already."

"I've read stories about a volcano springing up in a farmer's field in a matter of days," Lews replied. "By comparison, this is pretty slow." He stepped a little closer, careful of the streams of hardening rock that had trickled over the edge.

"I trust the Denigablis Inn will be doing no business this season," Elan observed. The volcanic rift had opened up in the courtyard among the trees where lovers had walked only last year, only a few feet from a swimming pool that was now slowly filling up with molten rock. He wove a web against the heat and moved in for a better look. His eyes widened and he stepped back.

"Elan?" Barid grabbed onto his arm. "Are you all right?"

"The sky," Elan breathed. "For a moment, it was...different. The clouds...I've never seen such a thing. They were...black and red and silver...interwoven together."

"It sounds almost like a dimensional rift," Mael suggested. "Do you suppose the Bore actually reaches some other world?"

Mierin thought on that a moment. "It's not beyond the realm of possibility. We know that there have been abilities that can't be explained with the One Power. They come and go over the course of Ages. Maybe what I found is something that was meant to wait for the next Age, or the one after that. Or it could be the source of power for some other world's creatures-_Sindhol_, perhaps, or the Ogier's original world."

"All the better that we close it off, then," Barid suggested. "Things have to happen in their proper time. Maybe that's why it's dangerous to us now."

"Which Powers did you use to drill the Bore, Mierin?" Elan reached out a hand, waving it through the heat shimmer above the crater. "Spirit, I presume?"

"Mostly," Mierin agreed, "but also Fire and Earth. I'm not bad with Fire, but Beidomon had to supply most of the strength with Earth."

Elan considered that a moment and stretched out both his hands. Mierin embraced the Source as well and tried to focus on the Bore. It felt puckered, like a wound in the world, yet no larger than a pinprick. Amazing that it had done so much damage already. Something-no doubt Elan's weave-seized the edges and tried to pull them together. The space above the crater...flexed and contracted...and a ripple of force erupted from it. A tiny thing, just enough to shove her back and make her stumble, but not a good sign. Elan staggered, and she and Mael both reached out to catch him just in time.

"Clearly that wasn't a productive approach," Elan said.

Barid gave him a worried frown. "Do we really need to be poking at it this way?"

Mierin agreed with him for once. "We should get a room and start studying it, form some hypotheses on how to close it. We'll have to test them eventually, but I don't think throwing random weaves is going to work, or do anything that isn't destructive."

Elan shrugged. "I've used that weave for breaking off vacuoles before. It was worth a try."

"How about we go inside," Lews suggested, "and Mierin, you could try sketching out the weaves you and Beidomon originally used to open this thing. If we can all get the best possible idea of exactly what you did, maybe we can figure out how to undo it."

"It could work," Mierin agreed. "Just remember that some of the weaves are going to be saidar, which means your initial expectation of what they do may be wrong."

"Something will work," Mael said. "It's like father always says: whatever can be done can be undone."

Mierin hoped he was right. The bleak look that passed over Elan's face when his son said that, though, made her wonder.

* * *

_Elan knew it was a dream from the moment he saw where they were. He'd never been back to the Southern Preserve. The scene fuzzed and faded for a moment, but the massive trees and dense green undergrowth remained._

_ "It's just a little farther this way," Haile said, and vanished._

_ In a blind panic, Elan charged forward and nearly followed her off the cliff. Bits of gravel that he could only hear, not see, bounded down what must have been a sheer rock face concealed by a massive network of vines. Haile clung to a handful of thin vines, her face turned up toward him. "Elan...I didn't...help!"_

_ Elan seized the Source, fumbling with his fear, and in that moment the vines gave way. He lashed out with ropes of Air...and missed. Too late, too late. Haile went spinning away down the cliff._

_ With a cry, Elan tried to open a gateway and found himself blocked by the preserve's dreamspike. Ecological integrity was considered paramount here. Elan gritted his teeth, wove Earth, and sprang over the side. Ledges of barren rock broke free and reached out beneath his feet, letting him bound his way down like an antelope._

_ Haile was still breathing, if barely. He wove Healing-the best of it he could manage-and let the weave settle over her. He heard bones crunch, setting improperly. He felt something shift under his hands. It would be enough. He just had to get her help._

_ Callbox. He had to reach someone in authority. They'd give him the dreamspike code, or open a gateway themselves. Help would be there. Where had it gone? No...he'd left it at the campsite up above them! Groaning under his breath, he wove Earth again, making a pathway he could follow. There would be time...there had to be time._

_ He raced back to the campsite, crashing through the underbrush, shoving aside what he had to with the Power. Had to preserve his strength. The callbox was in his pack._

_ "Help...ranger patrol...Elan Morin here. I need...medical assistance. Now!" Gasping, he held the callbox line open. They could trace it. He couldn't just wait. He turned and dashed back the other way. They'd open a gateway to wherever he was. Best to do it next to her. He barrelled along the path he had made, skidded down the outcroppings he'd formed._

_ Haile's breathing was already slowing again. He wove Healing once more...and nothing happened. Her faint ragged breaths seemed to merge with his heavy ones. Anything that could be done could be undone. He wove a complex weave of Air, drawing more oxygen into her breath. Her ribs seemed to have set badly. With a grimace he wove Air again and pressed down on them till they cracked once more, then used Water to hold them in place while he wove Healing yet again. This time it worked, fusing the bones back together in the right shape._

_ ...she had stopped breathing. Elan ripped her shirt open. Her heart seemed to be slowing. Chest compressions. Air woven just so, to keep the oxygen flowing in. He had to keep working. Her heart...he Delved her. Elan wove Fire and Water and clamped his hands to her chest, surging electricity through her heart. Nothing. Keep trying. Anything that could be done... He shocked her again. Her heart stuttered...beat once. Went back to fluttering._

_ Whatever it took. He reached in and massaged her heart directly with Water. The flash of a gateway opening behind him. "Move over, move!" A pair of Restorers shoved him aside. They couldn't stop him weaving. A third Aes Sedai shielded him. "Don't interfere, man! Let them try to save her!"_

_ Elan staggered to one side. Whatever could be done, they would do it._

_ But of course, she was already gone._

* * *

Barid could hear Elan moaning in his sleep. He stumbled out of bed and over to his teacher's. The Denigablis would've given them all separate rooms if they hadn't insisted otherwise, for lack of other business; as it was they were in the most luxurious suite available.

He put a hand on Elan's shoulder, and the man sat bolt-upright in bed, his eyes staring at nothing. "I'm sorry! Forgive me! Please, please..."

"Elan...Elan, it's Barid. Talk to me, man. You had a nightmare, that's all. We're in Kemali." Elan's eyes seemed to focus on him, and the older man took a deep breath. "Better. You're in a hotel room. We're safe."

"_She_ isn't," Elan mumbled.

"I know, Elan," Barid sighed. "I wish you'd talk to us about her."

"Too much. Too much." Elan shook his head. "It was all I could do to tell Kamarile. You were always...good students. Maybe in time. I...I went beyond everything I knew to save her, you know."

"I'm sorry, Elan. I'm sure you did everything you could."

Elan squeezed the quilt between his fingers. "Not enough."

Barid put an arm around the older man. "Are you certain you can do this? We can manage without you."

"I can do it. You'll need me. I'm certain of it."

Barid tried not to look dejected. Elan was probably right. What they were doing...it was at the boundary between physics and metaphysics. He'd be just as vital as Mierin.

"I'll see her again," Elan said, half to himself. Odds are that was why Elan had become a philosopher in the first place. Well, that and his obvious aptitude.

"Yes," Barid assured him. "You'll see her again."


	14. Chapter 14 - Police Report

"Elan Morin Tedronai Aes Sedai."

Elan looked up...and up. An Ogier in security grey-green was standing over him. Another pair of Ogier were standing at the bedroom doors. He sat up in bed. "I am Elan Sedai, yes."

"You are under arrest."

Elan knew he should find some words to respond to this, but for the moment nothing came to him. Finally he brought out a calm, "On what charge?"

"Wanton destruction of property. You have been accused by Beni and Larine Denigablis of triggering the magma flow on their land."

Elan closed his eyes slowly and deliberately, then reopened them. "I'm sorry. Larine Denigablis hired me specifically to investigate and, if possible, close the volcanic vent."

"I am aware of that, Elan Sedai." The Ogier leaned forward. He probably didn't intend to be menacing, but this particular Ogier looked as if he spent a great deal of his time engaged in strength training and was taller than average to boot. "Did you or did you not produce a spatial shockwave yesterday while engaged in that investigation?"

"I did, when I attempted to close the vent improperly. It was an accident, and I apologized to the proprietors." Elan frowned. Was that an _earring_, nearly concealed in the officer's hair? He'd heard of Ogier with piercings in other parts of their bodies, but an earring was downright risque.

"I must presume they did not believe you or accept your apology. Might I ask what brings you to Kemali in the first place? Surely you didn't travel here merely to assist a hotelier." The Ogier's tone dropped into a low growl.

Elan realized he was going to have to gamble. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, _alantin_."

"I am Vairan son of Goran son of Tonath, Chief of Security for the Ninth Dominion of the Consolidated Republic. And yes, any case involving you is important enough to draw my interest, Aes Sedai." The Ninth Dominion was the smallest-it consisted of the habitable area ringing the north pole-but all the same, its Chief of Security held a position exalted enough to be the envy of most Aes Sedai. In practice, the nine Security Chiefs worked as a global council, meaning that this Ogier no doubt wielded power well outside the single Dominion he worked for.

Elan nodded. "I'm aware of my importance, at least to a degree. I presumed that security had a file on me, if only for my own protection." Vairan nodded. "I will come clean. I am investigating more than a single volcanic event. Surely you must be aware of the multiple anomalous events that have occurred in the last year, in violation of known natural law. This is the most lasting."

Vairan bared his teeth. Elan did not believe for a moment that it was a smile. "We are aware. That is why your fellow Aes Sedai are also being confined and questioned in their rooms. Most especially, Mierin Sedai. We have deduced the cause of the events you refer to."

Elan decided to make the Ogier play his hand. "Which is?"

"Do not attempt to play the fool with me, Aes Sedai. Continued radiation from the Bore. That is why you are here. And that is also why I am here. Why did you not notify the Hall of the Servants, the Council of Nine, or both?" The Ogier slapped a palm down on the bedside table with a thunderous _crack_.

"Because we were concerned about the political fallout during the current instability. I'm well aware that Rexam Wol was elected as an interim First Servant, to provide continuity between Duram and whoever takes the office next. His qualifications are adequate-and no more than that. As for the Council of Nine-you are aware that the Fifth Rodholder is one of my party, surely?"

The Ogier sneered. "Lews Therin Telamon-while he is due my respect-has not yet reported to the Rodholder's office since his election. It could be argued that he is in violation of his oath to serve the Consolidated Republic by not at least notifying the other Rodholders."

"I can assure you that our goal was to handle the matter as quietly as possible to prevent panic and disruption. These events are occurring on a global basis-possibly beyond this planet, if one of the reports I've heard is correct."

"It is," Vairan said impatiently. "Do not discuss it here."

"Then you can imagine the results of a _global_ panic, Vairan son of Goran. If these events continue much longer, the cause _will _be discovered by the general public, and the total collapse of society might not be far behind. It remains entirely possible that my team can properly seal the Bore with relatively little difficulty within a week or two if we are given liberty to work."

Vairan sat down cross-legged on the floor, bringing him closer to Elan's level. Even so, he was not quite eye-to-eye until he leaned forward again, glowering. He spoke in a harsh whisper that might have been inaudible outside the room. "So Aes Sedai always say. Last year, the Aes Sedai said that we would soon have an immense new source of power at our disposal. What will you say next year, Aes Sedai?"

"Hopefully nothing of vast importance," Elan growled back. "We need to solve this crisis, and I have no desire to make another. I strongly suggest that you assist me, _alantin_, not obstruct my efforts."

"One more question, Aes Sedai. Answer it to my satisfaction, and I'll decline to take you into custody for the moment." Vairan's face was stone. "You're a favored candidate to be First Among Servants. Have you been contacted by anyone using the initials A.M.?"

"I have no intention of running," Elan stated flatly, "so unsurprisingly the answer is no."

"Of course not," Vairan muttered. "_You_ don't want power."

"Security Chief," Elan asked with a frown, "I don't understand. Why are you behaving in this manner? I am a respected Aes Sedai and philosopher who has been accused only of a fairly petty crime, and whose record is otherwise spotless. What about this situation warrants your anger, or this interrogation?"

Vairan rose from the floor and glared down at him. "You don't want to know, human. More importantly, you don't need to know."

Elan tried to breathe a sigh of relief as the Ogier walked out the door. Unfortunately, he was still under far too much stress to succeed.

* * *

Officer Tekor had to ask the question. "Chief Vairan, was that really necessary? He _is_ Aes Sedai."

Vairan spun to face him. "Do you ever really think about what the Aes Sedai are, officer? They have all the faults of humans, because they are human. They are hasty, they are petty, they are violent. Yet they have a lifespan much more like ours, and power on the scale of a Treesinger at the least. The Aes Sedai are respected by humans for all the wrong reasons. We Ogier ought to know better. They are a greater danger to this world than anyone else here."

Tekor didn't get it, of course. "I, ah...as you say, sir."

Vairan sighed. "Have you noticed that the man has no close living relatives save for a sister and a son?"

"Yes, sir, but he appears to be a sport. Very few of his family can channel, none save his son with any degree of strength. His father and most of his siblings are dead of simple old age. His mother died during a flare-up of the _Sindhol _conflict. The remaining casualties seem to be mere accident, sir."

Vairan returned to stalking down the wooden-paneled corridor. Something here was in disrepair, probably as a result of the lack of business; he could hear water dripping in the distance. "I'm sorry, officer, but under current conditions I can't let myself think of any death or injury as 'accidental' until it's proven twice over. You've read the reports. Violent crimes have doubled globally, tripled in my Dominion, and risen by _an order of magnitude_ in this single town. If we don't find the cause soon, we're going to have violence on the scale of an actual revolution. Do you understand the consequences of that, boy?"

"Do you think it's the Aes Sedai?" Tekor's reflexive trust of Aes Sedai was perfectly ordinary, and no less frustrating for it.

"I don't know what it is, officer," Vairan said grouchily, "but if it's not the Aes Sedai, why haven't they stopped it in a whole year?"

"They don't know about it?" Tekor's puzzlement seemed genuine, at least.

Vairan snorted loudly and walked on down the hall.

* * *

"Do you see it, Mom? They published my book!" Sein Verisant-no, Sein Verisant _Rethis_-raced into the kitchen. His mother was bent over the counter chopping vegetables. It was an old way of cooking, but the old ways of preparing food were often the best.

"How wonderful, dear." Mother didn't look up at him. "Would you like a strawberry goulash?"

"A what? Mother, you're not listening, They published my book on linked gateways! They gave me a third name for the experiments! Isn't it wonderful?" Sein waved the blue-bound book at her. Since when did mother cook, anyway? Father had cooked most of the time in their house. Mother's food had tended to taste like burnt leather.

"Did you make them name you Sourain after your uncle?" Mother dropped a lump of meat into a skillet.

"What? No! Rethis, mother. They gave me the name 'Rethis'." It meant something like 'clever', he thought. He tried again to show her the red book and its golden title, and again she ignored him.

"I'm fixing a chocolate sushi dish," she said this time. Chocolate sushi? What the-?

"Aw, blood and ashes. I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Sein was still just Sein Verisant, and the paperback he held in his hand was a figment of his imagination.

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out," said Mother, and turned, holding out a long serrated knife. On the countertop lay the skinned remains of Father's face. "Welcome to the world's nightmares, sonny."

The knife penetrated his throat before he could scream.


End file.
